We're forced, each man, to walk a trialed
path—
resisted trek, uphill through blinding daze
that shrouds with crucible's perplexing
haze
till fog-white skies yield quick to black
clouds' wrath.
Affliction brims a thorny pack to bear
whilst dewy darkness drenches in the
night,
but where is calming lamp to lend us
sight?
And who will come to give us saving care?
Here through veil is heard a whisper
certain,
then o'er the mountain creeps the
dawning day
and with clear eyes we see the brume give
way
as God retracts His theatre's curtain,
unsheathing velvet waves whose morning
sheen
beyond grey mist splays vast and
wondrous green.
©heezyvoice
H